Iron Pirate (The Deviant Future #5) - Eve Langlais Page 0,1
but the strangely smooth surface didn’t crack, and in it she could see a cheering crowd. People roaring and clapping and jeering as she drowned.
Her lungs spasmed. She couldn’t hold it anymore. Her lips parted—
Boom! The thunder hit hard. Just once. It proved to be enough.
The jolt from sleep to awake, not drowning in water. She wasn’t even wet. She remained safe and snug under the duvet on her bed, in her room. The filmy toile of the canopy overhead glowed softly as the lights from the city, filtered through the window, caught the silvery thread weaved through it.
I’m not dead. Maybe if she kept repeating it while lying still, her heart would calm. Knowing she was caught in a nightmare didn’t stop her pulse from racing each time. So many times now she’d drowned. The dream kept happening over and over. Yet it wasn’t the reason she couldn’t fall back asleep.
There existed an agitation to the night. The quivering calm before violence. She’d only ever experienced it a few times in her life, like the night her oldest brother died and father took it poorly. The taste of it stuck with a person.
People would die this night.
It occurred to Shereen to check on her father. Her poor father, sick in his bed for weeks now. They both knew he was being poisoned. They just couldn’t seem to stop it, and not for lack of trying. She had brought him food that she tasted first and had him drinking only from sealed containers. In spite of all the precautions, he got sicker. The doctors tried all kinds of remedies from liquid medicines to the more esoteric rituals that involved chanting. It all failed. They declared themselves baffled, but Shereen wasn’t about to give up.
She slid out of bed, feet automatically slipping into the slippers by it, and wrapped a robe around herself. Her hair lay long and loose down her back. She took a shuffling step before whirling to reach under her pillow for the dagger she’d taken to keeping there. Not that she’d had much practice with it. A princess had guards to defend her, but what if those guards turned against her?
With her father dying, she’d heard whispers. People eyed her and talked about her fitness to rule. Mostly her lack of it.
The power over water that ran through her father’s bloodline refused to ignite in her, just like she couldn’t even conjure a tiny breeze despite the storms her mother used to wield. If her father died, she’d be cast down, considered unfit to rule for the simple crime of being ordinary. Which might not be a bad thing. Most days, she didn’t really have any interest in wearing a crown.
There were others, however, obsessed with the idea of being king, and there was nothing that would make their reign harder than having a reminder of the past ruler hanging around. Would the other lords vying to rule leave her alone or come after her?
The Enclave didn’t suffer the weak—or those that might challenge their position. Her father had protected her as long as he could. If he died, everything would change.
The knife felt heavy against her as it swung in her pocket. She felt kind of foolish now that she’d left her room. The modern palace boasted a soft carpet underfoot, and it absorbed the sound of her steps as she made her way to her father’s quarters. He resided in a different corner suite with windows looking out over the city. An impressive city, the biggest in the world, or so she’d heard. It definitely was the largest on the continent. Although she’d heard the Marshland king was growing his at a rapid pace.
It occurred to her that the castle appeared awfully quiet even for this time of night. She didn’t encounter a single guard. Not even outside her father’s door.
A frown pinched her lips. Had something called them away? Or had someone removed them?
A soft tap received a surprisingly firm and strong, “Come in.”
Shereen entered to see her father pacing, looking more energetic than she recalled him being in a while. “Father? Are you all right? Where are your guards?”
He slashed a hand. “I sent them away. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust any of them.” His once benevolent features were creased in suspicion. Understandable given his situation.
“You seem to be feeling better.”
“I am.” He thumped his chest. “The medicine I had smuggled into the palace did the trick.”